No One Suspected Us
by Brandidy
Summary: "They bombed us. No attempts to save anyone, no evacuations, just the decision to kill everyone before they could be killed. Ironically, they're all gone now. Most people are." Beth and Daryl in an AU post apocalyptic world and the story they're writing in their dust.
1. The Prologue

America. Home of the free, land of the brave. You can practically hear the star spangled banner echo in the distance while you're outside. No matter where you are, there are flags and eagles in abundance remind you which country you're in. The land shines in the _love_ and _acceptance_ we offer to people of our nation, or so we like to tell people. We like to make others think that we have everything under control, and in the possibility of a- I don't know, nuclear attack or something- we'd all have it handled after an hour.

But that's not the truth, and honestly, you'd be an idiot to believe a single thing that the government says about how they would "handle" the situation because we are not humans to them. We are not people to save. We are tax payers and we supply their salary, but when it comes down to it, we are expendable.

That's what I knew to be true when the dead started rising like something from a George Romero film. I used to love this country because that's how I was raised. But after everything, after we knew all of the warnings on the radio or the TV were something much bigger than we were led to believe, after my daddy died with my momma after something bit them, after they _came back as something else_, you could hear the explosions in the distance. The bombs going off and on the news, the buildings left the air covered in soot.

They bombed us. No attempts to save anyone, no evacuations, just the decision to kill everyone before they could be killed. Ironically, they're all gone now. Most people are.

Nature is taking back the world. Things and places that used to be occupied by human feet and now covered with grass and weeds. The buildings are starting to look overgrown, and if there isn't dead walking in your view, the world is beautiful if you squint. Humanity is restarting, which it makes you wonder if something like this has happened before. If some other huge event in history took out the planet, and beneath our feet lay ruins from past civilized worlds that we have yet to discover.

One of the hardest things in the world to realize is that you won't be on this Earth forever, and that you'll only be someone's memory. But now, that's not even a luxury granted to the average human. We get to die, come back, and hopefully not kill someone else just to have the cycle repeat. It's honestly like we're reverted back to Paleolithic times, living just to hunt and eat. That's all they do now, only the few of us who have survived are left to have thoughts and options in this world.

Oh yes, the options. The world is just so filled with options now. Live or die? Stay or go? Drink yourself half blind if you find alcohol or just enough to where you pass out? So many options.

I constantly think back to when my daddy used to read the bible to me. He'd say every verse with preciseness, hoping to engrave each and every letter and punctuation into my memory.

Was this God's plan for the world? I wonder if there is someone who will write the occurring plague down on paper, and when society grows back, this new book will be put into it. What will the next generation world think? What will the name of this new book be?

I once found a book in one of the many abandoned houses. It was a book over Hebrew and Greek words ad meanings, and I'm sure I won't have any say in this new bible book, but if I do, this seems like a good name:

**KHAWDASH: Hebrew word translated "new," * the root meaning of which means to "renew," "repair," "rebuild," "restore" with secondary, adjectival meanings of new and fresh;**

These various thoughts and scenarios keep me up at night, sighing and rolling around on pallets in the dirt.

Yet, I still pray. I still sit down when I feel it's necessary and just pray. Not even for me, not anymore. I pray for every child and baby who have to live through this. That they _do _live through this. I pray that if they do die, that it be quick and that they don't get up afterwards. These are the things I pray for now. And god is it painful.

I also spend numerous hours wishing and reminiscing on the past which honestly can't be healthy.

I miss having to wish my old boyfriend Jimmy would take me to some restaurant for our date, or when my sister Maggie would come home for the holidays. She'd buy me these souvenirs from the city and bring them back wrapped in newspapers and pretty handmade bows. Really, I just miss her.

I also miss buying food from stores and doing homework. I miss my momma and my daddy holding me when I feel like there isn't anything to live for, when I cry because the world just doesn't seem like it recognizes me.

But, we don't get to cry anymore. Crying leads to noise, and well, noise leads to walkers.

"Beth, I found something," I hear him say, and I turn to him with my eyebrows raised. He sounds excited, which is something I'm not used to hearing from him.

He stares at me expectantly, his long hair brushing his chin. I need to find some scissors and cut it in his sleep, but knowing him, he'd do the same to my hand. We hold one another's eyes for a moment before I give up. "Well, spit it out, Dixon!" I release, rolling my eyes. Since when was he so dramatic?

He mumbles something about me being an ungrateful brat, and I just laugh because he's back to his normal self again. He slowly pulls his hand from behind his back, and I see a long tube of some sort with yellow packaging. It looks vaguely familiar, I guess, but the writing is so worn on it that it could literally be anything. But, it had to be something that'd make Daryl happy, so I was betting on a weapon of some kind.

"You don't- Jesus, girl! What kind of childhood did you have?" He asks me, brushing passed in such a Daryl-way that I don't even get angry. I'd never tell him, but I hate it when he leaves me alone. Now that he's back, I'll be willing to give some leeway. "Stand back." He warns me, and I immediately step back and stand beside a beat up car.

Daryl sits the tube down, kneeling before it. I see him pull out his lighter that he only uses for when he finds some cigarettes, lighting it and bringing it to a string that is hanging from the tube. Oh!

The string lights up, and Daryl walks backward until he's beside me. "I ain't really too sure that this is gonna work, but if it is, it's worth the fluid." His voice comes out in a hush whisper, and I realize that he's just as excited for him to see this as he is for me. Staring at the tube, I see him slowly turning to me every few seconds to gauge my reaction. Before I even know it, I'm smiling.

I don't know what to expect, mainly because I don't even remember the last time I watched a firework. I kind of recall the brightness, but more than anything, I remember my family laughing and touching me. Just simple caresses of my arm, but it's enough to have me on the verge of tears.

They fall when I see the first light shoot out, and Daryl lets out this little sigh of relief when he sees that it actually works. Probably because he would have been pissed if he had wasted his lighter fluid.

The first one explodes in the air, raining sparkles of light in the night sky, and I start sobbing. I haven't cried in months, and some old fireworks make me feel like I never stopped. Daryl's hand is on my arm, and I can feel my sister's hand in its place. It's like an anchor, dragging me down to the ground beneath me as another shot fires out. Through my blurry eyes, it looks like the Earth is the source of all the fire, and I can't help but thinking how befitting it is. The world has turned to shit. It feels like Hell, and now it looks like it too.

Daryl sinks beside me, just looking at me for a minute. I can tell how uncomfortable he is in the situation without even seeing him, so I take initiative, as I have any other time we have embraced, and bury my head in his chest. It takes a few minutes before his hands lift up, then slither around me and hold me against him.

He's always been so careful with me. Not nice, no not nice by any means. He calls me rude things, and sometimes I think he hates me, but on the rare occasions that he is taking care of me, it's like he does everything in his power to not break me while I cling onto him for dear life. Him trying to keep me from getting too close and me trying to dig myself into him.

But right now, his fingers are rough grappling hooks in my side, allowing no space between us, and I'm so thankful for it. More fireworks explode, igniting the air around us, keeping my stomach churning as the thoughts are slowly fading away and all that is left is _him._

"Happy Near Years, Greene." He whispers in a raspy breath beside my ear. The revelation that it has been two years since it all started leaves me shell shocked and stiff in his arms. Even more so that he's been keeping up with the time.

I hear him taking another breath, preparing himself to speak again, when groans and disgusting gurgling noises erupt from the trees beside us. We're up before we see them, but when we do, they come in a herd. The bodies pile through the woods like a flood, and Daryl has my hand, dragging me in the opposite direction like some sort of savior.

We navigate through the area, climb some rocks and break some windows, and eventually are standing with our dirt caked chest heaving in and out on top of a roof. There are still fireworks going off in the distance, and I question whether or not he had set off more while I was distracted. "Hey, Daryl," I say, my hand hitting his to get his attention. He shrugs his head at me in attention. "Happy New Years." I respond, my legs giving out and my back hitting the shingles. I don't remember whether or not I started sliding before he started running for me, but I do recall each and every instance that I intentionally neglected to eat my food this past week. I remember not regretting it.

"Beth?"

_**Thank you for reading! If you have something to suggest to me for an idea or anything at all, message me, leave a review, or find me on tumblr at the url sacrificiallame . tumblr . com!**_


	2. Chapter 1-Blame Elliot

"For god's sake, Clarence. How much did you put in there?" Mrs. Realy asked, peeking up from behind her desk, eyes wide with the likeness of an owl.

The boy in question peered back at her through the thick cloud of smoke, his knee digging into my back.

"Ow." I yelped at the sensation, and much to my non surprise, he continued as if he hadn't just attempted to carve out my intestines. With a firm hand on the desk, feigning courage, Clarence pulled himself to his feet and cautiously looked around the room. I stood up soon after, coming to the conclusion that if he hadn't exploded into a glorified array of blood and flesh, the beaker on the desk in front of us was done with it's fireworks show.

"Two containers full." He said like he had done nothing wrong, yet the entire class erupted into fits of sighs and groans. Something that the boy was definitely not unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of.

Mrs. Realy smacked her hand to her blemish-free forehead, coming to her feet. Her once perfect ponytail now disheveled and hanging hard to the left. "It said two _cups_, Clarence." The teacher enunciated exasperated. "Cups, as in the _measurement_. Not cups as in the _actual_ _cup_." She shook her head, then looked up at the clock as her delicate fingers ran over her plaid skirt in a unavailing attempt at straightening the rumpled fabric . "Well, you only have about a minute left anyway. Clarence, you stay here and help clean this up."

"But I have practice-" The red head began to protest, but our teacher silenced him with one of those looks that left you pondering all of your life choices. _Should I really have treated my little cousin like that when I was six? That time in fourth grade, would it have been better if I had bought the salad instead of the pizza? _**All **of your life choices. "Which can wait." He finished, his head hanging almost to his knees as he walked to the back of the class to grab the broom.

"Indeed, it can." She stepped forward and began inspecting the charred ceiling with a scrunched nose, when something loud and booming sank through the walls of the classroom.

Students looked up, and we all felt the shift in the mood from laughable anxiety to full blown panic. Many ran to the windows. "It's just an airplane." She said, trying to defuse the situation.

Now, I'm all about rationality and that good stuff, but even I had to admit it was pretty loud to just be an airplane. Students around me pulled out their phones, some trying to take pictures of the plane that was already long gone and others attempting to see if anyone else knew what was going on.

"Phone's up!" Mrs. Realy yelled, her voice breaking in the middle of her last word. The bell rang, signaling the end of yet another day at public school. "Don't forget about your test Monday. Have a good weekend, and Elliot," She pointed at the boy who was beginning to walk through the door to leave. "Actually study this time."

The boy nodded, then rushed out, hitting my shoulder. My books fell to the ground, spiraling out around me in a circle. "Hey!" I called out, but he was already gone, disappearing into the abyss of hyped up teens.

…

_**Daryl**_

"Get the other car in here!" My boss screeched, smacking his hand together so that a cloud of dust erupts from his fingertips. The other men began to bring in a pretty polished truck, their dirty hands smudging the doors. Owners aren't gonna like that. "Daryl," he tells me, so I look over my shoulder at him, "when you get in tomorrow, I want you to work on the Dodge. Those folks want their truck ready by six."

"Six? I'll get it done by two." I replied, grabbing my rag and keys that were laying over the back of our work shelves.

Dale gave me a stern look that wasn't any tougher than a pup, making me pat him on the back while I fought a grin. "I'm serious. Take a break from the ladies, or whatever it is you do in your spare time, and make sure you get here early tomorrow." He turns back around, closing the hood of a red Toyota. "I don't pay you to forget to set your alarm."

I chuckle. "Yeah, I'll be here bright and early and get it done. See ya' tomorrow, Dale." I sit down the wrench that one might think was glued to my fingers, then walk out into the bright sunlight. The sky is blue and there isn't a cloud in sight. My hands go to my hips as I look up just in time for a jet to soar above me.

The noise roared, and my head rotated rapidly as the building began shaking and shuddering, giving the slight impression that it'll fall, although it had survived much more than that.

I turn when I hear a box of tools fall to the concrete behind me. "God damn. What on Earth was that?" Zach, a younger man with short blonde hair asked, walking out of the tin building to stand beside me. He smells of sweat and stale beer, partially ruining the feeling that the world was currently giving off.

"An F-22 maybe?" I responded, bringing my hand to my forehead to block out some of the sun as I search for the plane. Yet, there's nothing but the clear blue out there. No sign that the plane ever made an appearance.

"That's a fighter jet, yeah? The fuck is it doing here?" The short blonde haired man asked, his eyes flickering all over the sky before they came to look at me.

My eyes fell from their place in the sky to look at him too, taking in his slicked back hair and the grease stain that goes from one corner of his forehead to the other, before I shrugged. "Maybe they're just testin' the thing." I offered helplessly before turning around and scooping up my dirty jacket. "I gotta get home and mow before it gets dark out."

The men in the garage looked up at me and mumbled their goodbyes. I lifted my hand slightly and flicked my wrist before changing my path and leaving for the day. My boots kick up some dirt on the concrete outside, and as I'm looking down, I notice something funny. The flowers that usually line the road are brown, sitting crumpled on the ground.

_Flowers die, _I tell myself. But, all of them? In twenty-four hours?

_Since when do you give two shits about flowers? _Since... Well, I guess I don't. 'There's more important things than flowers.' My mind reminds me, making me roll my damn eyes that I have to tell myself something like that. Or that I have to tell myself anything at all. Can't be healthy.

I avert my gaze and focus on _more important things_, like where the hell my truck is.

Spotting it in the parking lot, I gave a verbal sigh when I realized I had parked it farther away than usual. "Shit, Daryl. What were you thinkin'." I immediately wished I had decided to fix my truck's air conditioner. It's not like I don't got time for the damn thing, it's just that I keep forgetting.

Actually, in all honesty, I don't remember parking so far away. I always try to get on the first row, and by try, I mean I _am _always on the first row. I'm one of the first one's here. Why would I park on the last? _You're being paranoid._

"Dixon!"

My body jumps before I can even form a thought, and I swing around, nearly knocking Zach down in the process. The guy stumbles back, but I quickly grab for his arm, catching him before he hits his head on the curb. There he sits, the back of his head hovering mere inches above the concrete, as I look at him like I didn't do a thing wrong.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"You could have killed me, man!" Zach shouts, shoving my chest. I don't respond, or even look at him really. I did almost crack his head open. "Whatever. I was just coming out here to bring you your keys." He says, pulling them out of his pocket.

That catches my attention. Sure enough, when I reach into my pocket, my keys are gone. "Did you take 'em from me?"

Marcus tilts his head to the left making me feel like a moron, still holding my keys in his left hand. "No-o? You left them on the back shelf."

"Nah, I grabbed them. I'm sure of it." I correct him. I remember grabbing my rag and my keys.

The other man just laughs, tossing the keys at me. "You're losing your mind, old man." Then he leaves me with my mouth open and my keys hanging out of my hand. Maybe he's right, maybe I'm just losing my mind.

When I'm finally prepared to turn around and get in the truck and get home, I find it less than ten feet ahead of me, parked on the front row. My feet stop and I look around me. Somehow the air seems thicker, and a cold breeze blows up my arms through the sleeves of my shirt. "Alright, who is it? Zach?" I shout to the air, my hands out in front of me. "Neat trick. Now, can we stop this bullshit?" But there was no reply. "If I catch one of you, I'm gonna kick your ass for touching my truck." I continue, walking to the vehicle. But, I hadn't heard it being moved.

Groaning, I open the thick metal door of my pickup. The seats were hot enough to fry on, and the compressed air inside made me feel like a rotisserie chicken, but I started her up anyway and got on the road, when another, less loud, jet flew above me. To the right, I see a few women on the side of the road talking rather loudly and gesturing to the sky, not one under the age of fifty.

"Excuse me," I say as I pull over, wiping some of the sweat from my brow. "You ladies wouldn't happen to know what is going on, would you?"

They all turn to me, some getting a bit flustered. "Sorry, sweetheart. You're just as clueless as we are." One replies, running her hand through her aging hair.

"Maybe it's a sign of the end." One of the oldest of the group mentions in a hushed tone. I laughed, nodding.

"Maybe you're right." I respond, looking up.

Another one wearing a sundress hushed me with her hand. "Don't go feeding her fantasies, son." She said more to herself than to me. This started an argument among them, each one bickering about their own reasoning for what they believe in. I quickly decided that wasn't where I needed to be.

"Well, thanks. Y'all have a nice day." I rest my arm on the outside of my window as I pull back into my lane and drive.

Another jet flies above as I pull into my driveway, and I look out of the open window quickly. Now, I'm certain. That's definitely a fighter jet. But, what the hell is it doing in Georgia?

"Hello, Daryl!" A chipper female voice calls from beside me. I turn, seeing my neighbor. A blonde woman in her late forties who has a daughter in high school.

"Afternoon." I respond, waving as I walk over to where she is perched on the porch. "How are ya?"

She smiled even brighter with each step I took towards her. "Never better." She stated with her hands under her chin. "Are you going to be mowing today?" I almost asked how she knew, when she continued. "It's Tuesday." She told me with a hint of mischievous, taking a sip of what I assumed was iced tea. Possibly spiked.

A laugh fell from my lips as I looked down. "So it is." I had guessed she liked me, but I didn't think she had memorized my mowing schedule. I looked back up, trying not to seem uncomfortable. The women around here liked to ogle and feast their eyes upon whatever they could. Calling them out on it would just cause a further hassle. "How's Beth?" I asked in a subject change. A preferred one.

Annette bit her lip, nodding. "She's great. She graduates next month."

"That's great." I said, catching myself smiling. "She's doing pretty well in school, right?"

Annette grinned at the thought of her daughter. "Oh, yeah. She's brilliant. I'm very proud of her, and so is her brother."

Brother? "I didn't know she had a brother."

"Yes. His name is Shawn." Annette sat down her glass of tea, and I watched as water trailed down the side and began to puddle on her table. "He should be coming in today, so perhaps you'll meet him?" Annette took another tip, and I nodded.

"That'd be... Interesting."

She leaned back and howled in laughter, momentarily catching me off guard. "He'd love you. Shawn was always friends with men like you."

I leaned on her railing now, my shirt getting stuck on splinters of wood. "What do you mean, "men like me"?" I question, my tone a bit harsher than intended.

"Older," She said first, looking down at me. "Quiet, strong, someone who'd be reliable." Her eyes flickered to the upper right, as if she was remembering something. "You remind me of someone, Daryl. Someone who I miss very much."

My curious smile fell then, I knew who she was talking about. Beth had told me small details about her father. One of which was the reason why he wasn't here with her and her mother. "I'll see you later, Annette." I told her quietly, pushing back from the railing to go get my lawn mower.

"You should come to the graduation!" Annette shouted, jumping up and grinning brightly with pleasure at her idea as her hair flew around her in the wind.

I lifted my hands and shook my head. "Oh no. I wouldn't want to crash Beth's occasion on her big day or anythin'. I'm sure there will just be close friends and family, and I'll probably have to work-"

"Don't be silly! Beth loves you. You are practically family!" She insisted.

I struggled with the urge to stop her. Annette had no idea how Beth felt about me. The only times we speak are when Beth is getting home from school, or if Annette sends her over to invite me to dinner. It would probably embarrass the girl to have me hanging out with her mom up in the bleachers during her graduation. Not to mention how uncomfortable _I _would be.

"I'll check my work schedule and get back to you." I promised. And it was true. I would check my work schedule and see if I could pencil in someone for that Saturday, and if not, I'd go. After I was sure Beth was alright with it first.

**_Thank you for reading! If you have anything to suggest to me or would like to talk to me, leave a review, message me, or talk to me on tumblr at sacrificiallame . tumblr . com_**


	3. Chapter 2-Can't Trust A Cop

_**Beth**_

I mentally chastised myself for even thinking about confronting the guy who pushed me to the floor. Guys like that don't help girls like me. Guys like that take advantage of girls like me, then grow up and live life without ever having any repercussions for their actions.

Why were my thoughts currently so negative? That put me in a worse mentality. So, trying to wrap my head around something that could make me feel better about myself, I pulled all of my belongings together in a huge jumbled mess, somehow balancing everything just right so that my stuff wouldn't take yet another dive to the floor. My hands slowly began to numb with each step I took. When I walked through the threshold, the nerves were so screwed that I managed to drop my notebook without the slightest realization.

"Hey, you dropped this."

"Huh?" My head spun around so fast that my foot forgot it was supposed to be stepping down onto a stair. I watched in slow motion as papers flew passed my head. My hands flung out in front of me, catching my fall, but not enough to keep my knees from scraping against the concrete.

I knew there would be blood, but I didn't want to see it. I stared down at my hand, the blood starting to come to the surface of the new wound. I felt my stomach began to shrink, pushing my food up my throat. My eyes focused further, and my sight caught my torn up knees. It looked like some digital effect in a movie where the blood spot gradually gets larger until it's basically all you can see on the pants leg.

"Do you do this often?" I looked up at the girl before me. She must have seen the green in my face because she stepped forward to get a better look. "Holy shit, are you okay?"

I decided to focus on the first question, instead. It was the million-dollar question. Why was I dropping everything? Had I suddenly become some clumsy mess of a girl that couldn't even hold her own books? Did I somehow know what was going to come that very night and it affected me hours prior? That was something I would ponder for many years to come.

"To answer your question, no." I responded with a smile, hiding that I was snatching up a rather worn out book of mine before she could. "I'm just a little out of it today."

She had hair the color of tree-bark and skin that was tanned. Olive. My eyes adjusted a bit more, and I noticed her smiling, making her eyes crinkle up at the corners. Her eyeliner was on a bit thick, but she didn't seem to mind it, so neither did I. "I'm Tara." Bell's rang in my head. I had heard of her before. She was the "raging Lesbian" that had made a recent appearance in the school, sending everyone into a frenzy. By raging, they simply meant that she was the only out-lesbian that actually treated her relationships like other people did. Meaning open displays of affection and what not. Basically, she didn't let stereotypical tropes keep her from feeling normal. As the world should be.

The rest of the details that followed behind her were lost to me. I didn't actually know her, therefor none of the details that spread from other mouths stuck with me, and sadly, there had been many.

"Good citizen" and "Makes fun of people who fall" had been added onto my mental resume for her more recently.

It clicked that her hand was sort of just limply dangling in front of my face, seeing as how she had stuck it out for me to shake, and I very disrespectfully ignored it.

"Beth." I said in a forced bravado that sounded like a superhero trying to be modest. Tara raised an eyebrow at me, but let the mishap slide nonetheless as I laughed it off.

She reached down and grabbed the last text book that appeared even more beat up, then handed it back to me. "Where do you live? Do you need a ride"

"Oh no, it's fine. I mean, I-I'm fine. I live a few miles away and I usually just ride my bike." Well, that sounded stupid. "I just bike home." God, Beth. "On my bike." By the time I was done butchering my sentence, I was running my hand through my hair and leaning slightly to the right.

Why am I so bad at walking and talking today?

"You're really strange."

I sat there for a moment trying to find something to explain why I was really awkward. Like, a way to blame it on the off-ness of my day, but I soon realized that only my body was being effected by the day, not my words. That part was all me. "I know." I finally relinquished, exhaling a bunch of air.

She nodded, her eyes squinting a little as she let her shoulders fall. The gesture was almost hidden beneath her large brown leather jacket. "Right. Well, I'll let you get to your bike." She handed me the book, then she spun around as her hair fanned out behind her. I watched as she headed to the student parking lot. "Maybe I'll see you around some time," she called back.

"You too!" I responded almost instantly, then literally shoved my face into my hands. Why. Why must I make everything so ungainly. "That didn't make any sense, Beth." I told myself, reaching the handle bars of my bike. I shoved my books into the basket on the front, which makes me look like an eight year old. At least it didn't have the tassels (my mom let me remove those last year when I told her it was either the tassels or a new car).

The bike ride home was perilous, filled with dicey pot holes, chilling red lights, and strange elderly men yelling at me to speed up. Ironic and sad. Not to mention I was already late as it was. I was so incredibly late.

My bike slid along the driveway as I came to a stop, Red Wine blaring through my headphones. My body vibrates with each verse and I can feel my heart warming as the song continues.

My senses perk up at a disturbance in the noises I'm hearing through the headphones. Honestly, I'm pretty interested in whatever noise could break through my sound barrier. My eyes seek out the perpetrator, and soon fall upon a familiar face. Daryl, my neighbor who's in his mid thirties, was outside seemingly just finishing up mowing his lawn. I look at him for a moment before I realize he's talking to me.

"Hmm?" I ask, and when I see him flinch, I assume my voice must not have come out as quietly as I had first intended. I hurry to rip out the ear buds.

"-train?" His deep voice called out.

"Can you repeat, possibly, everything you've said since I got here?" I question, an embarrassed grin on my face.

Daryl lifts his hand, chuckling a bit as he brushes through his short facial hair. "I'll skip the mean parts, then." He tells me with a grin. "I was just wondering if you knew you were singin' louder than a passing train."

As if my face couldn't get any redder. Had I known that? No. Was I going to say that? Of course not. "That'll be ten dollars." I respond with my hand held out.

His eyebrow lifts, and his eyes stray over me with suspicion. "What for?"

"I don't do free shows." I reply, moving the kick stand out.

And then he laughed. It wasn't the kind of laugh you could listen to all day. It was a deep, hard laugh. One that would take time getting used to, and even then, you might not want to listen to it daily. But, it was his natural laugh, and I had hardly heard it before, so I just smiled back at him.

I almost walk away when he calls me back. "What happened to your leg?"

Casting my eyes back to him, I kind of shrug. "I fell down some stairs." I reply, and I see the gears in his head turning as he ponders on something. I watch him stare down at the ever so present blood stain on my leg, completely unaware of whether he's going to call a doctor or amputate it himself.

Daryl was a fairly unreadable man, and it was infuriating. Especially when my mother sent me to his home to ask if he wanted to come over, because I'd show up at his door and knock, then he'd open it and peer out at me, and I'd ask simply, "Would you like to come over?" and even though he has yet to come in our home once, his eyes still show such... Dubiousness of the situation and what he is going to say. So I still walk to his bulking front door and slam my small hands down on the wood, that simple question still at the tip of my tongue, when internally I know his answer.

There's even some gossip about a time Daryl was in a poker game with the Mayor and a few officers of his old town, and he won the game with flying colors because of his incredible poker face. I don't quite believe it, but if he told me any different, I'd have to believe him because I'd have no clue he was lying.

Finally, I saw some sort of decision being made in his stoic facial expressions, and as soon as they appeared he turned away from me and took off like a deer. "Where are you going?" I asked him with great distress. Was I supposed to wait here? His only response was to hold up his finger in a 'hold on a second' sort of way, then he rushed back inside of his house.

I stood beside his fence, leaning heavily towards the right. The wind was blowing, whipping my hair around like a maniac in a weird shampoo commercial. My fingers were gripping onto the cold metal as I looked at his house, waiting for the man to emerge.

The same deafening sound went above my head, then. I caught the plane slicing through the sky before it was gone. It gave an intimidating impression, something military style. But, I had never seen one before, so why now?

I heard his footsteps then, I comical contrast to what I had heard not ten seconds before hand. "Now will you tell me what you're thinking?" When my eyes found his, he was already closer than he had been before he left. I opened my mouth, trying my hardest to breathe in a usual manner, but he knelt before me and touched the knee of my pants.

"I'm gonna have to cut these." He told me in a abrasive voice, pulling a switchblade out from his back pocket. I yelped, seeing as how he gave me no time to oppose before he tore the jeans just above my cut.

"I liked these pants." I mumbled, stumbling a bit until I leaned my back on the fence and held on for dear life as he began to tear the bloody jeans from my tender flesh. I knew before it happened that it was going to hurt, but I had no idea how much. In fact, when he started, I had to stop him to make sure he wasn't ripping off my skin instead of just the cloth.

I'm on the verge of crying when I feel something icy being pushed into my stomach. My hands grab at it before I can get my eyes on it, but when I do, I almost throw it at his head. In my hand was a bottle of Four Roses Bourbon.

Instead of clonking him on the head with it, I just stare down at him with what was more than likely the stupidest expression I had ever plastered on my face. "It'll help with the pain." He told me, not even looking up. I wince as he gets the final piece off, the bottle still in my hand. When my eyes open, they're a bit blurry from the tears. Although that soon clears and Daryl's still knelt before me, but this time he _is _looking at me. "You're actin' like you ain't never drank before." He informs me, not making my mood any better.

"That's because I haven't." I whimper back at him, hoping I won't scream out. He has a rag to clean up the blood, and the flesh is horribly sore.

Daryl stops what he's doing, then. "Don't bullshit me. You're eighteen."

Once again, I had the urge to hit him over the head. Instead, I opted for looking at the intricate design on the glass bottle. "Don't get me wrong," I reply, unscrewing the cap. "I would have. The opportunity just never presented itself." The tip of the bottle is almost to my lips when he yanks it back. "Hey!" I yell.

He stands up, pulling the bottle just out of my reach. I grab for it, but the bastard is about a foot taller than me and at least sixty pounds heavier. "I ain't gonna be the one to give you your first drink." He says, somehow being okay with tearing my leg open, but not giving me a swig of alcohol.

"Why does it matter? One way or another, the alcohol was still going down the hatch. Why does it matter if this is the first or the thirtieth time?" I pretty much yell, slapping him hard on the chest. He steps away, though, making me go farther than I anticipated and bend my knee. I cried out and fell forward. Glass shattered, blood dripped, and Daryl switched from a hard biker type to a big softy sputtering apologies as he held me up.

My hands were on his shoulders, his right arm slung around my waste, his left hooked under my legs to keep them straight, and my entire body was sat over his lap. It was... Awkward. My face was burning beneath the surface, and he was just looking at me. It was then that I noticed that he had blue eyes. I always thought they were green.

"Let me... Uh-Let me go ahead and finish patchin' you up so you can go on home to your mom." He said, looking away and brushing off some of the broken glass before sitting me down. He took my right leg and looked at it for a minute before putting the gauze over it. "Shouldn't need stitches, but it's going to scar."

"What about you?" I asked, and he looked at me like I had just shoved a burning log in his face. "You cut yourself on some of that glass." I remind him.

He looks down at his calf where, sure enough, some blood is starting to seep through his own jeans.

"Aren't we a pair?" I ask, laughing as I think about are similar situations.

He shrugs, picking up some of the rags he used earlier. "I'll clean it up real quick."

I nodded, no words leaving my mouth. He stood up, then held his hand out for me. I immediately caught it.

"Thank you. For... This." I told him, gesturing down towards my leg. He nodded, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. I saw the hint of a tattoo on his wrist. Something legible. Numbers perhaps?

"S'no problem." He said with a hint of a smile. "Go on inside." He gripped the bottom of his shirt, walking towards his garage as he pulled it off. "I got some business to tend to."

"You're a tease, Daryl Dixon!" I told him after I got over the hypnosis. I heard his deep chuckle echoing from his garage, and turned to walk inside my home.

The living room was a mess, which was a bad sign. My mom tended to tear things apart when she was nervous. I distinctly remembered the time that my dad's parents were supposed to come over for Christmas. They had never approved of my mom as a wife for him, so in my mother's anxiety of what was to come, she tore apart our presents in the night. I didn't know then what I know now. How even the slightest bit of criticism from one of her children would send my mother into weeks of depression.

She never really had an explanation for it, but ever since my dad died six years ago, it had gotten worse. I'd wake up in the middle of the night, and she'd be sitting in the middle of the hallway, legs tucked beneath her and her hair in a rats nest, ripping up pieces of paper.

I found her in the next room. She was sitting in front of the window in the kitchen, gazing out of it like a school girl in love. "What are you doing?" I asked.

She jumped back, placing her hand over her heart. "Jesus, Beth! Give me some warning next time." I ignored her, brushing passed to see what she was staring at. There, I saw Daryl raking his back yard. The man clearly had no earthly idea that my mom was looking at him like a rib-eye steak. If he did, he would no doubt put a shirt on.

I turned to look at her with disdain. "Are you kidding? He's not a piece of eye candy, momma."

She sighed. "He knows what he's doing."

Well, that pissed me off. "That's the worst excuse I've ever heard of. Even if he's aware of himself and chooses to not cover it up, it doesn't mean you should be making googly eyes and cat calls at him through the window. He's a human, not a circus animal."

"My little daughter, the ever so moral Bethany Anne Greene." Her hands went up in the universal 'giving up' way, and she spun around so that she could prove she was done looking through the window.

"Besides, shouldn't you be getting ready for Shawn to get home?" I reached behind me, lowering the blinds.

She rolled her eyes, sitting down in a chair beside the equally messy table. "His name is Connor. That's the name I gave him when I gave birth to him." She took a tip of tea that she had left there. "Your daddy is the one who decided to give him that middle name. And he called an hour ago. Said his flight is being held up and that he will be home tomorrow." My heart had begun chugging in my chest as a painful knot started to twist. I hadn't seen my brother in nearly four years. "He also asked me to tell you that he's sorry, and that he can't wait to see how your hair has grown out." She said with a chuckle.

I groaned loudly, absentmindedly fingering my hair. The night when Shawn cut it hit me full force, and soon, I was laughing too. It had looked like I had handed a child the scissors instead of a nineteen year old man. "That asshole." I said under my breath.

A hand slapped me on the arm, and my mother was looking at me with disapproval. "Don't call your brother that." She chastised, and I leaned in real quick to give her a kiss.

"Sorry, momma." My feet turned and aimed back towards the living room when my mom questioned my destination. "Why don't I go and clean up the living room, and you get started on dinner?" She agreed, and I continued my path.

I was about half way through cleaning up her big pile of ripped paper when she called me in for dinner. Mac and cheese and stuffed mushrooms. I recollected then that I usually over-see her cooking so that things wouldn't get burnt or over seasoned. As they clearly were now. Crap.

We sat down opposite of each other, each painfully mindful of the empty seats on either side, one of which should be filled now, and the other would never be filled again.

"How was school?" She asked, stuffing a bite of mushroom into her mouth. I actually stared her down for a moment in an attempt to gauge the level of horror I was about to receive from taking a bite, but she didn't crack in the slightest. She's getting better at this.

I scraped my fork around on the old, blue, glass plate. "Clarence Thomas blew up my chem. Class." I supplied, pushing aside a hard macaroni.

"Oh? Well, we know what career he's aiming for." She said, reaching for her glass of wine.

I nodded. "Suicide bomber." I finally took a bite, instantly wishing I hadn't. There was quite the generous amount of salt, but despite the contiguous extinction of any wetness in my mouth, I swallowed it. "His parents must be so proud."

She lifted her fork, pointing it towards me as her blonde hair slung over her right shoulder. Me and my brother also had blonde hair, but her's had always seemed so much brighter than ours. Shawn's was practically brown now that I think about it. "You know, his father used to be a waiter down at Buddy's."

I did know, but I didn't want my mom to have any reason to get angry with me. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. And his mother was a shop girl in the eighties." She added like a gossiping housewife.

I sighed, looking passed her and out of the window that I remember closing, but was once again open. "I guess it runs in the family." I said distractedly, wondering if Daryl knows she was panting like a dog in heat while watching him.

"What?" She asked.

"Short lived careers."

My mother stopped chewing for a moment, than it hit her. She began laughing, then she laughed so much that she had to grab a napkin to wipe her eyes. "You're awful!" She cried out, taking another big swig of wine.

I smiled back at her, chewing on my too salty food with pride. It _was_ a good joke, wasn't it.

A knock came to the front door setting a much less entertaining mood, and both of us stood and began to walk towards it. My mother turned the knob, pulling the wooden door in towards us, and we looked out to see Officer Parker on the other side.

"Can I help you, officer?" My mother questioned. I saw her chest began to heave, and I didn't have to guess why. The last time an officer showed up on our door step, my father was dead.

_**Thank you for reading! Please leave a review, and if you would like to get into contact with me, message me or go to my tumblr at sacrificiallame . tumblr . com**_


	4. Chapter 3-We Didn't Start the Fire

I could tell she was about to pass out if she heard Shawn's name come out of this man's mouth, and although I felt strong for the moment, I was pretty sure my head would hit the floor too.

"Mom, why don't you go sit down, I'll get this." I told her, gently pulling her arm. She turned to look at me, and I saw her blank expression. "It'll be fine." I told her quietly, but something firm was hidden behind my gentle words. Someone in this house needed to be strong, and it wasn't going to be her. Heck, it wasn't going to be me either, but I was always better at lying.

After a few seconds, she agreed and stepped around me to go sit down in the living room. Once I was sure she was okay, I walked out onto the porch and faced the man directly, wondering if I was capable of hearing bad news. "Yes?" I heard my voice crack. I guess the answer was no.

"Good afternoon. Our county is under strict orders to relay this message from the United States Military: Please keep indoors." He looked down at a paper he held in his hand, and I took the opportunity to look to the left and see that Daryl was on his porch talking to an officer as well. "For your safety, we ask that you do not come outside until told otherwise by an officer of the law, or someone else of Military rank. Find somewhere safe inside, like doorways, closets, and bathtubs to hide in, and keep food and water supplied around you."

"Excuse me, but what is going on?" I asked, taking a step back.

He continued to read from the page. "We are not allowed to give out that information, but we ask you to follow these guidelines. Emergency vehicles will be unavailable during the time, but if need be, the St. Francis Medical Center is open. We ask that you do not drive on the roads unless it is of the utmost importance. Your vehicle will be stopped by an officer of the law, and you will be in danger." He brought the page down to his side, then looked back at me. I couldn't help but think of how robotic he sounded."There's bad things comin', girl. Make sure you and your mom stay inside, alright?"

I nodded, but when he turned to leave, questions hit me like a ton of bricks. "Wait." I called out, but he just kept on walking away, clearly ignoring me. "Wait a minute! What's happening? Are we at war?" He didn't turn around to answer. "How do we get to the medical center if we can't drive? These plans don't make any sense!" Once again, no answer. Not even a fidget to show that he had heard me. "You guys are just locking us up like animals! We need _some _information!" I began to yell as he got in his car.

I took two stairs at a time, nearly tripping as I jetted to the window of his car. Asking him to please open the door, I placed my hands on the glass. He looked at me like I actually was a rabid animal, not even human. I could see literal _fear _in his eyes from me touching his car. Why? My eyes focused a bit more subconsciously, and I thought... Perhaps he's looking passed me?

But before I could find an explanation, I felt someone's hands grab me like I was some sort of criminal, my body being slammed to the ground with brute force. My jaw hit first, then my stomach. I got a good mouthful of dirt with impact, and I could feel my brain rattle against my skull. Two officers held me down on my stomach, there voices echoing in my head as they told me "You have the right to remain silent. No one's going to help you."

This wasn't how my day was supposed to go. I had always wanted something more. Something bigger than this small life, but this surely wasn't the way I had wished for it to happen.

I felt a pinch as one attempted to cuff me. My breathing was becoming hollow while he pushed in on the upper half of my back to keep me from fighting, but since I wasn't fighting in the first place, all it was doing was making it harder for me to breath. My hair was caught beneath me, choking me enough as is.

I had just wanted to know what was going on. Was it illegal to touch an officer's car? I didn't know, god, I didn't know!

My eye sight began to darken a bit as my oxygen level depleted and things became more sluggish. I wanted my daddy. More than anything, I wanted to hear his sweet voice telling me everything was going to be okay. Everything would be alright.

He had always been the one to comfort me when things were ugly, and I just knew he'd be the only one to help in this situation. He was the only man that had never let me down.

My ears perked up, but not with the sound of a flowy male voice. I heard a deep clunk. Boots stomped down in front of me, and on the tip, I saw a lady bug.

It was the wrong season for lady bugs.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" A thick voice that I eventually recognized as Daryl's demanded, ramming one of the large men. The man fell, his body rolling onto the ground and slamming against the trunk of a tree. I rasped from the lack of pressure, wheezing as I tried to sit up. "She wasn't tryin' to attack him and y'all know it."

The man turned on Daryl, pulling out a night stick. He looked apprehensive, but on the end of the stick, I saw something shining. Something wet which led me to believe that he wouldn't be too hesitant to use the weapon.

"Get in your house, sir." The officer told him, the subtle hint of a warning hidden beneath his words.

I wheezed out. "Daryl, jus' listen to 'em." I tried to breathe, my hand finding my chest as it pumped in and out violently.

"I will when they let this _non-threatening _girl go." Daryl said to the men, not backing down. He was built and tall. I could see how they would find him intimidating. The officer looked at the other, seemingly debating their choices. "Either you let her go, or you take me." He said, but anyone who heard it knew what he was implicating. If a 6ft, 200 lbs man stood in front of you and basically said, "if you screw this up, you're going to have to deal with me." I think I'd do what he asked too.

"Just... Just make sure she stays inside." The retreating man said, speaking quickly, turning with his buddy to go to another set of doors. I saw them turn ever so often to make sure that Daryl hadn't followed them. Officer Parker was long gone, so that just left Daryl and me.

"You alright?" He asked me. I nodded, standing up and turning to go inside to my mom. His hand reached out, pulling on my upper arm so that I was facing him. "You need to be more goddamn careful. You understand? These guys ain't followin' the law anymore. You're gonna get yourself killed if you keep this bullshit up." He told me, something shaking in his dark blue eyes. I slipped my arm from his grasp.

"It wasn't bullshit, Daryl! How the hell was I 'spose to know that two men would come barreling at me if I touched a cop car?" I yelled, my hands rising in the air as if trying to prove a point. I was truly upset that he decided to take his dumb redneck aggression out on me. Possibly more upset than from being knocked down. Maybe I was just upset because I felt like some pretty traumatic things were happening, and he decided to use me as his verbal punching bag.

Daryl sputtered. "Jus' be more careful. We don't got time for arguing." He told me with a stern expression, and I huffed, walking away. I knew I was acting like a damn brat, but he deserved to be ignored by a damn brat.

I ran up the porch without so much as a 'thank you', and charged into my house. "Mom. Something's happening."

She sat up from her place on the couch when the front door slammed into the wall. "What do you mean?"

"They're telling us to stay inside and to hide in doorways. There's not even going to be active ambulances." I told her while walking in front of her. Her eyes opened wide and she stood up.

I noticed the piece of paper in her hands then. Her fingers were twitching as she tore it into strips. "Mom." I called to her, but she shook her head and walked off down the hallway. "Mom!"

She was going into a spiral.

I trailed behind, only stopping when she sat down on the floor and lifted a floorboard up. Her small hand disappeared into the blackness. "What are you-" She brought it back up, and in it, I saw different kinds of paper. Oh no. "No, mom. You need to get up."

She didn't listen. He hands began expertly ripping apart the paper, and the closer I inspected, I saw that she held newspaper in her hand. Her eyes watched the paper fly through her fingertips, not moving a single muscle. They stay trained in the exact same spot, and when I grabbed an article before she could, I read the date. 'August 7, 2008'. "Momma, please..." I began begging, but one look at her let me know she wasn't listening. This paper. It was the paper from the day my father died.

I bent down in front of her, my hands on her shivering shoulders. "Momma. You need to snap out of this. There's about to be some crazy stuff going on." Nothing. "We could die." Not a single motion to indicate I was getting through. "Do you think dad would be okay with this? With you zoning out and leaving me out here to deal with all of this?"

I sighed when she continued grabbing her bits of paper. Within seconds, it looked like a shredder broke into our house and exploded. I didn't know what else to do, so I shook my head, saying "I'm sorry," before lifting my hand and slapping her dead across the face, the noise sending a chill down my spine.

Her hands stopped, and her head slowly turned back to me, eyes alive and angry. "What the hell, Bethany Anne? Don't you ever touch me like that again! Who the hell-"

"Get up! A war might be starting, and you're sitting on the god damn floor!" I cried out, glaring down at her.

That brought her back. She looked around her for a second, getting her surroundings straight, before sprightly jumping up and leaving me in the hallway. She wasted no time as she walked to the pantry, grabbing canned food and chips. "Baby, go find somewhere safe in the house. I'll grab the food and meet you there."

"Mom, wait. Shouldn't we find out what's going on? Can't we go to a neighbor who has a cellar?" I insisted. Why are we hiding in a house that will get destroyed the second that something big happens, anyway?

My mom stopped where she was, then slowly turned to me. "Sweetheart, I don't want you out there."

I knew she was thinking about losing me, but I don't think anything bad would be happening while the cops are still out there. "They wouldn't risk that many lives to send out the cops. There must still be a few hours before anything is possibly going to happen." I could see the stubbornness in her eyes. "Mom, just let me go look."

"No. Definitely not. Just stay in here." She said with unwavering authority, shaking her head and filling up grocery sacks. I could see her fingers fidgeting to tear apart things. So much so that she tore open one of the bags she was using, food falling out from the bottom.

The second the can of beans hit the floor, a huge blast came from behind us. I heard one of our windows shatter. I jumped, and my mother dropped the rest of the food. "What the hell was that?" I asked, walking to the front door.

"No! Beth Greene, you stay away from that door!" She yelled, lifting herself up to grab me.

"I'm just going to look out and see what it was! I'll be right back, momma. I swear." I looked her in the eyes. Her scared, pale blue eyes. "I _will _come back. Don't worry about me." I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before turning around and heading to the front door, her screaming my name as I did.

When I opened it, I definitely didn't expect what I saw. I felt like I was sitting behind a camera watching everything happen. The area was gray and red from the illumination of the fires, as if everything was in black and white except for the flames.

A few streets over, houses were burning. Screams were echoing everywhere. I was the lead in my very own horror movie. People were running down the roads, and cops were tackling them to the ground. In the distance, even more smoke. It all looked like a terrible dream, but it was real. It was here. It was in my small little town in Georgia. It was everywhere.

I watched the trees wavering in the distance, leaning almost to the point of breaking. Others were broken, blocking driveways and turning lanes.

Above us, the sky was lined with planes slicing through the evening sky, their engines quaking and causing even more noise. I focused on one for a moment too long, and watched as something fell out of the bottom of it. When the thing hit, a detonation followed after, demolishing a house and whatever, or whoever, was inside. The wind picked up and the shockwave hit me, knocking me to my knees.

I'm...What... We're all dead. We're all going to die, and no one can stop it.

My hands were bleeding on the wood, the blood seeping through the cracks.

Were these the last images I'd ever see? Burning chaos in my home?

My eyes strained against the image. My heart raced in my chest. My stomach churned, and my thoughts thundered.

We're all going to die.

A child screaming ripped me out of my haze, and I spun around to see some cops grappling a family down on the lawn. They looked like monsters. These were the things that children feared.

"Stay inside!" They were barking at the family, their batons raised and ready to swing.

"What, so we can burn to a crisp like our neighbors? We have a child!" A man yelled, struggling to get free. My eyes darted around to see similar activity happening. A blur ran passed me, and when I saw it was Daryl, I didn't even think before turning to shut our front door and take off down the porch.

Daryl was heading straight towards the cops. I detected the resoluteness in his steps, my own steps weak and wounded in comparison. That basically explained our personality differences.

I was almost to him when I saw a police car trunk was open. My path changed and I jumped with joy when I saw that inside was a night stick and at least a dozen gas masks. I looked over my shoulder at the end of the street that was burning, and sure enough, a thick layer of gas was making it's way towards all of us. These assholes knew what was coming and all they told us to do was "wait it out".

"Dixon!" I cried, snatching a handful of masks after putting one on for myself. He turned and I pointed at where the chemical was coming close. Daryl raced to me and forced the objects from my grasp while picking up the night stick. Without reluctance, he walked up behind one of the cops, and slung the stick to where it landed a blow on the back of the man's head.

The cop fell over with a thud and Daryl groundlessly knocked out another one who was rising his hands in defeat before punching the last in the gut. I watched in awe (or horror) as he handed the family the rest of the masks except for one, then slid it with reckless abandonment onto his own head, his mind on something else entirely.

…

_**Daryl**_

I felt the coolness of the night stick in my hand as I walked behind the man with his knee in the child's back. Something in me just... Cracked. I've seen some men get beat, hell I definitely seen some women get their asses kicked, but somethin' about the way a child looks at a grown up when they get hit sends me on a rampage that I can't come back from. Maybe it's just that look of expectations or somethin'. That looks that gets crushed just a lil' more with each fist hitting flesh.

I thought I heard a crack when I brought the weapon down on his skull, but it wasn't really high on my priorities to make sure that man was okay. Another officer turned to me, and I took him out just as quickly, no hesitations.

"Sir, what you are doing is illegal." The last officer stood, his hand reaching behind his back. An explosion burst through the air behind him.

"Don't pretend to be innocent now. Ain't a damn thing you just did legal." I said before grinding my fist into the man's stomach, slamming him onto the dirt face down. I picked up my mask and put it on, turning around.

My eyes automatically found Beth, as if she was some sort of magnet. I watched as she was currently running back towards her home. "Beth!" I yelled, trailing behind her.

"I got to get momma out of there!" Was her response, picking up her speed.

I was several feet behind her when I knew that things weren't ever going to be the same. At least not for her. It was as if I was watching it all in third person. I saw the plane fly over, this one much closer to the ground then those before it, and the bottom opened, releasing something. The mysterious object fell, heading straight for our homes. She screamed as a blast demolished my house and hers. Fire exploded around us, chunks of our homes rising off of the ground and breaking into a million pieces, debris flying off. I took a deep breath when I saw something knock her down before me.

"Beth!" I remember yelling for her like a damn idiot, tripping over my own two feet to get to her. Something hit me in the chest and knocked me on my ass, but I fought to sit up. About twenty feet in front of me, I saw her. She wasn't moving, wasn't responding, wasn't breathing for all I could tell.

"Beth?" I choked out while attempting to shout. "Beth! Get the hell up!" I was panting and screaming, blood and sweat blending together and running down my face. I picked myself up, then limped to her. I fell down beside her and watched her just... Lay there.

…

_**Beth**_

There was a clinking in my ear, I felt an ugly hurting in my shoulder, and my ankle led me to believe it was just ran over by a steam roller. I raised my hands to look at them in opposition to the sky, but the differences weren't too clear. Both were stark red. A drop of blood dripped down onto my face, yet I couldn't feel it.

"Get up!" I heard someone shrieking in the distance. Why were they so far away? Who else was bashed by that blast?

I coiled over with difficulty, trying to balance myself on my weak elbows. When my eyes absolved from the blurry sight, I noticed Daryl right in front of me, gas mask taking the place of his face. Oh yes, that's why I couldn't feel the blood. I had one on too. But, my mother didn't. My mother...

I flipped over quickly, climbing to my wobbly legs and turned to run and get it to her, but stopped before I could even attempt to walk the distance. Because there was no distance. There was no final destination.

Before me, my house was no more. There was a burning pile of rubble where our cute little porch should be, the place where my daddy first told me about death, where I had my first kiss, where I let Shawn cut my hair... and the rest of the house was scattered a hundred feet in each direction.

"Mom..." I croaked out, staggering headfirst. "Momma!" I cried, my voice hoarse and useless. I suffered the world concluding around me.

Lord, no. Please. For the love of God, let me wake up! Let someone pinch me and tell me this was some horrible dream!

Mom!

My heart was throbbing, singing songs of death in my chest.

MOM!

I needed to get to her.

_ Mom!_

She's dead.

Big hands wrapped around my abdomen, pulling me back. "Stop! She's gone." Daryl told me.

"Get the hell off of me! Momma!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, tearing through the sounds of explosions. My elbow thrashed around trying to strike Daryl anywhere I could. "She could be okay! I have to find her!" He needed to let me go. Let me go!

Daryl kept his hold on me close and snug. "There's no way." He said, breath in my ear.

"Let go of me, god dammit." I remarked, my words coming out muffled by the mask, but I was no longer flailing. I had sunk into his body, his arms suffocating me in the best kind of way. I didn't realize I was crying until the gas mask began to steam up and the tears wet my cheeks. He held me against him as I watched my home and my mother burn down in front of me. I told her I'd be back. I told her that so she didn't feel alone. Didn't feel like I was abandoning her. But, I did. I just.. Left. I left her.

And now she's dead.

_**Well, that wasn't too bad, was it? **_

_**Thank you for reading. Leave a review! And if you'd like to talk to me or suggest a short drabble or anything, message me or contact me at sacrificiallame . tumblr . com**_


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